


One Shirt, Two Shirt, Red Shirt, Dead Shirt

by lielabell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-14
Updated: 2011-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lielabell/pseuds/lielabell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy never really thought about what dying would be like. He always sort of figured that was a problem for later on in life, you know, when he was old and all used up and the end was nigh. Guess he sort of figured wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Shirt, Two Shirt, Red Shirt, Dead Shirt

Andy never really thought about what dying would be like. He always sort of figured that was a problem for later on in life, you know, when he was old and all used up and the end was nigh. Guess he sort of figured wrong.

Because here he is, in the middle of some crazy ghost-infested town, trapped in some epic battle to the death with no foreseeable way out. Except, you know, death. Which is why Andy is suddenly thinking about what dying is going to be like. 'Cause, honestly, he's got no illusion about who's going to be the last man standing. And it sure as shit isn't going to be him.

Which is why he’s all for sticking as close to Sam as possible. Because Sam, well he’s got his shit together, fighting evil wise. Hell, Sam even recognized this crap hole of a shanty town from a freaking _tree_ on a freaking _bell_. ‘Cause he’s just awesome like that. And he’s got massive fighting skills, which, well, Andy doesn’t. At all.

Andy's never been a fighter. Not even when he was a kid. If some bully wanted something, Andy handed it over. No questions asked. Didn't matter if it was his lunch money or his favorite Star Wars action figure; Andy coughed it up. It was just a thing, after all, and things can be replaced. People, on the other hand, cannot. And Andy's dad, well, he had already lost enough of things that couldn’t be replaced to lose Andy over something that could. Not that he thought that Terry McGuffey, resident elementary school bad ass and giver of the most painful wedgies in the history of ever, would kill him over his Telescoping Lightsaber Darth Vader, but still. The principle applied.

And now, well, it's too late to change a lifetime of habit. So Andy, he just wants to do what he can to make sure that the best man does, in fact, win. Because Sam, on top of being uber cool and a world class creepy-shit fighter, is a fairly decent human being as well. And if anyone can stop that freaking yellow-eyed demon, Sam can.

Dude. That yellow-eyed demon is a total dick. Andy seriously wishes he could mess with his head as easily as he can with everyone else, because if anyone needs twenty-four seven gay porn, it's that guy. What a douche. Sure, Andy seemed to have lucked out in the creepy-gifts-from-creepy-guys category, but the cost of being able to have his way for the last year or so is totally not worth the price. Which is something he was pretty damn convinced of that _before_ he got stuck in frontier land and now that he's here he really, really wishes he could do something other than, um, die for a cause. A totally stupid cause. That he doesn't even believe in and still can't quite wrap his mind around.

So he sort of just... follows after the group. Sticking to his glued-to-Sam plan as best as he can. His brain keeps trying to make connections, figure things out, like it matters if he gets what’s going on. Which it totally doesn’t, because Andy's so not going to be making any stands against that totally fucked up cause any time in the near future. Or ever. Not with the whole being on the wrong side of the battle to the death thing.

They weave down the street, all of them pretending like they have any idea what they are doing, like their stomachs aren’t eating themselves and the world isn’t freaking ending. Even finding those bags of salt doesn’t do much to change his mindset, because, seriously, there is not enough freaking salt in the freaking world to fix this shit.

God, Andy really wishes he wasn’t here right now. That none of this ever happened to him and that he was still working in a crap cafe in a crap town, mooning over some girl who was never going to look his way and wondering what the hell he was going to do with his life. Sure, life sort of sucked big time back then, but then none of his friends had died and he didn’t know that he had an evil-nut-job-of-a-twin-brother either.

An evil-nut-job-of-a-twin-brother. A demon. Magic powers. A war between good and evil. If someone made a movie of his life, it would be pretty epic, Andy thinks with a smile. Expect for this part, that is. The part where he realizes that he’s not the hero and is, instead, a minor character who is about to be victim number seven thousand five hundred thirty one in the epic battle between heaven and hell.

He spends so much time thinking that, that he fucks up the one thing that he had, to this point, gotten right: Andy loses sight of Sam.

And, ah hell, now he’s trapped in a room with a creepy-ass demon who looked like a cute little girl two seconds ago but now has one really fucked up face and things in the place of hands that would make Edward Scissorhands weep with envy.

Just like that probably-going-to-die shifts into not-going-to-last-ten-more-minutes. And Andy? Well, he panics. Because that’s what you do when dying suddenly transitioned from theoretical to practical application.

Damn it, why couldn’t he have been leading-man material? Or, at least, the plucky side kick. Just because you aren’t the star of the show doesn’t mean you have to be a Red Shirt, right? Except, when it comes to battles to the death, you sort of only have those two options.

Andy knows that. He's not stupid, no matter what anyone might think. Just because he lived in a van and smoked a lot of pot didn't make him _stupid_. Just, um, unmotivated. Which is a perfectly acceptable way to be, when you can get whatever you want by just asking for it.

Ah crap, there he goes again, focusing on what totally doesn't matter instead of what does: his impending death. And how it is not only coming way sooner than he thought it would but from a completely unlikely source. And, also, really freaking hurts.

Andy screams as that creep-ass demon digs those claws of hers into him and tries to send a mental image to Sam, let him know what is going on, who he really needs to look out for.

It doesn’t work. Not that he expects it to. Still, he totally wishes that it had because Sam really should know what a raging c-wagon this Ava girl is. Playing so sweet and innocent when she’s all in cahoots with wicked nasty demon children. And, god damn, that really freaking hurts. What the hell is she even doing with those claws? Andy hears himself whimpering, begging, all pretense of self-respect gone.

And suddenly he wishes that he was fighter. Because a fighter would have done something more than stammer about the line in the salt. A fighter would have found a way to break free, to stop Ava in her tracks. And, even though he’s never previously had a vicious streak in his life, Andy totally wants to make that bitch pay for what she’s doing. He thinks about knives and blood and pain, oh god, the pain.

Then that creepy-ass demon hits something that turns out to be vital, and Andy doesn't think about anything anymore.


End file.
